


A collection of Face Fills

by darktensh17, Nife



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Humour, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Other, Rape, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 21,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darktensh17/pseuds/darktensh17, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nife/pseuds/Nife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are some old fills I did for the Hetalia Kink Meme years ago. They all contain Canada, America, France, or England in some way</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No help needed

**Author's Note:**

> These are a few years old, I'm posting them for anyone who may enjoy them. They're all one shots of varying themes

“Mathieu, tu le fais mal.” Francis said from the couch as he watched Matthew slowly begin to suck Alfred off. “Non, non! Ce n’est pas bon!” He said feeling irritated when the Canadian ignored him and continued what he was doing.

Beneath him England wiggled impatiently. Francis had been just about to enter him when he’d been distracted by the ‘bad blow job’ on the other side of the room. “Francis.” Arthur warned, not at all in the mood to play second fiddle to their little brother’s who weren’t even involved with them!

Francis obliged him by thrusting in, but it was obvious he was still distracted. “Il faut que tu massage avec ton main aussi.”

Across the room Alfred was beginning to worry if he was going to survive this experience. He didn’t know what Francis was saying but he could tell it was making Matthew mad, especially when it felt like Matthew was going to break his hip bones with how hard he was holding them. What’s worse though was the fact that it was still strangely erotic and Alfred was definitely getting off on it.”

“C'est vraiment dommage que tu ne peux pas le faire propre. Ca doit être difficile pour Alfred.”

Whatever it was Francis had said it had Matthew snapping. “Regarde-moi gros trou du cul! Je n’ai pas besoin de ton aide! Je le fait bien! Plus que bien. Je prend au moins soins de mon amant!”

Everyone in the room was quiet before Francis looked at Matt and frowned before looking down at the very angry Arthur. “Tu as raison.” He said before happily turning his attention to Arthur as Matt returned to pleasuring Alfred.

At that both Arthur and Alfred shared an exasperated look before going back to enjoying what their partners had to offer.


	2. Bloody Fields

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains rape

The battlefield was bloody. The dead and wounded men lay strewn across the battlefield, cries of agony cutting through the air. Their pain was drowned out however by the continuing battle. Both sides continued to fight valiantly; the French for their land, the British for the lands of the French. It was hard to believe the battle had not even been going on an hour. Especially with the devastation that had been wrought. It would soon be over though.

The British were fighting without a general. General James Wolfe had been taken down shortly after the battle had begun. Unfortunately it did not deter the determined British troops, and the French were hard pressed with holding their line.

Mounted next to his own General Louis-Joseph, Marquis de Montcalm, France surveyed the battlefield with sad eyes. Did it really have to come to this? England already held most of the southern continent of America, why must he try and take Canada as well?

Closing his eyes the nation took a deep breath and listened from not far away England cursed as he realised another French cavalry was approaching them from behind. Captain Louis Antoine de Bougainville had been sent out two days earlier to cut off the British supply train. It appeared he was now rejoining the battle.

Somewhere he heard one of the British commanders call for a retreat. France allowed himself to relax a little and look back towards Quebec where he knew this young country was watching the battle. He was fighting to keep that boy free of England’s rule, and he could not fail.

He began to turn his horse as Montcalm ordered their own troops to also retreat inside the city. They had wounded to tend to and dying to ease on their way. Just as he was turning though he heard a shot ring out close to him, followed soon after by another. Turning he watched as Montcalm fell from his horse.

Immediately dismounting he knelt at the side of the injured General, calling for someone to take Montcalm into the city. This battle was obviously not yet finished. Once Montcalm ad been seen to, France stood and faced the man who had fired the gun. “You could not retreat like your troops could you England?”

Lowering his musket England glared at him. “This battle may have been lost to us when Wolfe died, but we will win this war.”

“Non, you vill not.” France told him, facing the other nation. Even if France lost thousands defending this country he would not let England take it. There was someone here he had to protect from England.

Drawing his blade he met England’s eyes as the other country did like wise. “En garde.” France told him before charging at him. Their blades met high, both testing the other they pulled away for another go. This time France came in low onto have his blade blocked by England. The other country’s blade pushed forward after the parry but Francis dodged.

England laughed and struck again, coming from the right this time. “Do you really think you can win?” He asked in a gloating voice. “I’ve already taken what I want from you once. Acadia has no more of your people only mine are there now.”

Growling France tried for a quick thrust, a stupid move driven by the anger and fear of what had happened to his people, no they were Canada’s people now. The move proved his undoing as England’s block took the sword out of his hand. 

“Surrender.”

France, spat at his feet. “Never.”

England thrust his blade forward into France’s side. It was a shallow wound, but it stung. “Must I injure you bit by bit?” He asked as he suddenly slapped France on the side of the head with the blade, hard enough to cause him to see stars. He didn’t waste any time afterwards in knocking the taller man down.

“This is familiar isn’t it Francis?” England said using his human name, as he turned the Frenchman over and pulled his hips up. “But this time you won’t escape me.” Grabbing his blade he reached over France’s head and grabbed his hands, piercing the centers with the blade to hold them to the ground.

Though still slightly dazed, the pain of the wound was enough to clear France’s head even as he cried out in pain.

England grinned wickedly. “Yes, that’s how I like to see you.” He purred as he made short work of removing France’s pants. “It hasn’t been so long since I’ve had you before me like this.” He slid his hands up France’s buttocks, into his uniform coat, and then back down again. “You look so good like this Francis. I’ve been waiting for this since those few years ago.”

Beneath him France just shuddered. England wasn’t so egotistical that he thought it was his touches that caused it. He knew it was the pain from his wounds that was causing most of France’s reactions. It suited him just fine; as long as he had France shuddering and screaming beneath him he would be happy.

Quickly undoing his own pants, England freed his already aching arousal and with no preparation speared France with it. He was immediately encased in a tight almost burning tunnel that sent torrents of pleasure through him. Beneath him he could feel France jerk in pain at the intrusion, and the taller nation’s cry of pain rang like a chorus of angels in his ears.

“So incredibly tight.” England moaned as he pulled out and quickly thrust back in. It became easier to do so every time as Francis’ blood coated his inner walls and England’s erection. “God Francis. You know ever since Spain gloated about taking you like this for trying to settle in New Spain, I’ve dreamed of this. And after I’d had you in Acadia I wanted more.”

“B-Brûlez dans l'enfer!” France managed to hiss beneath him. The words were weak, but the spirit behind them caused England to laugh.

“Yes, that’s good.” He hissed as he began to speed up his pace. “I don’t want to break your spirit yet. No, I want you to hold that for a vey long time.” Grunting he slammed into the other hard and came within him.

After letting himself come down from his sense of heightened pleasure, England pulled out and knelt next to France. “You were great.” He said as he reached between the other’s legs and jerked him off. It delighted him to see the twisted look of pain and pleasure that came across France’s face as he came. Even better was how humiliated he knew it made the proud nation feel.

Once that was done he cleaned himself off on the other’s pants, tossing them to the side as he pulled up his trousers. “Well Francis, this has been truly delightful. But I have an army to regroup and a country to conquer. I will see you on the next battlefield, if there is one.” He added grabbing his sword before turning away and leaving the Frenchman laying there bleeding.

Small tearful blue eyes watched hidden behind a nearby bush. The owner of said eyes shook in fear and worry as England hurt France. The small spy stayed hidden until England was gone before running out of the bushes. “France!” He cried worriedly, finally allowing the tears to fall as he ran over to his big brother and struggled to help him up.

“Mathieu. . .” France said calling him by the human name the older nation had given him. “T’as tous vu?”

Canada nodded sadly, running over to grab France’s pants. “Les soldats viennent.” He said, trying to reassure France as he helped him put his pants on. “Tu vas être sauf bientôt.”

France offered him a smile but Canada could see it was forced. “Merci Mathieu.” He said just before he passed out.

Canada screamed at that and began to cry. It was probably that which alerted the French soldiers to where they were. One of them picked him up and carried him back into the city as two others lifted their wounded country up and followed them. They took France to the infirmary and laid him next to Montcalm. Canada refused to leave his side. He stayed until France woke up hours later, and remained with him even as they saw Montcalm through his last moments of life.

Even though he was terrified, and very disturbed, Canada didn’t leave France’s side.

Through the next year he would remain with France as the other fought for him. Everything from abandoning Quebec to the three months spent trying and failing to reclaim it. Canada watched as his brother grew paler and more distant. And though France continued to fight the young nation knew that things had changed.

And less than a year later it was all over.

-

“Au revoir Mathieu, ne m’oublie pas.” France told him as the small child embraced him tightly. He returned the embrace but was the first to pull away, especially when he felt tears soaking through his stained jacket. “Jamais oublier.”

France kissed the boy’s head and without sparing England a glance, turned and boarded the ship that was there to take him home. He would miss Canada but England had promised to care for the child, it was all he could ask in exchange for complying with all of England’s demands.

“A dieu Mathieu.” France said, watching over the railing as Britain laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He hated to see that Canada was crying, but there was no choice in the matter. In order to keep him safe France had to leave, and so he was.

As his ship took off and the figures on the shore became smaller and smaller France finally allowed himself to cry for his failure to protect his little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “T’as tous vu?” - You saw it all?  
> " Les soldats viennent.” - The soldiers are coming  
> “Tu vas être sauf bientôt.” - You'll be safe soon  
> “Merci Mathieu.” - Thank you Matthew  
> “Au revoir Mathieu, ne m’oublie pas.” - Goodbye Matthew, don't forget me  
> “Jamais oublier.” - Never forget  
> “A dieu Mathieu.” - Goodbye Matthew (literally: To god Matthew)
> 
> Notes:  
> 1 - General James Wolfe the British commander within moments of the beginning of the battle was "struck with two shots, one low in the stomach and the second, mortal wound in the chest" and died early in the battle  
> 2 - Bougainville had been ordered to cut the supply train to the British off with 2, 800 men and 200 cavalry.  
> 3 - Montcalm "was struck by either canister shot suffering injuries to the lower abdomen and thigh" and died in the city the next morning  
> 4 - The forced expulsion of the Acadian's from 1755 to 1763 following the British conquering of Acadia.  
> 5 - In 1564 the French created a colony in Florida, Fort Caroline, which was destroyed a year later by the Spanish from nearby Saint Augustine.  
> 6 - September 8, 1760 the British took Montreal all and thus control of Canada. The Treaty of Paris was signed three years later and possession of New France went to Great Britain.


	3. Day by Day

Canada’s life was usually pretty routine; where others may find such a thing boring he was quite happy with it. After all a life that was repetitive meant no big surprises to ruin things for him. Of course there was another reason he enjoyed his routine life.

America, his older brother was that other reason. Sure everyone often mistook him for America and he was often picked on because of it, but that didn’t bother him as much as he made it appear like it did. That is because he and America shared a little secret.

Because America is a hero he must have the spotlight, or so he says. Canada is happy to let him have that spotlight, he is even happier to remain in his brother’s shadow.

When people forget who he is and call him by his brother’s name Canada only smiles and politely corrects them. Then repeats it when hours, minutes, even seconds later they forget again.

At meetings Canada watches as his brother spouts out crazy ideas and chuckles as they are shot down, usually by England. He rarely says anything. Some, those who remember who he is, ask why. He simply smiles and tells them he prefers things that way.

The meetings usually end with America and England fighting and Canada and France breaking them up. It’s another duty he doesn’t mind, even though his brother can very stubborn and pig headed when it comes to a fight that gets interrupted.

But none of that matters because when night time comes America makes it all up to him, because at night America belongs to him, and only him and Canada knows how to treat those who belong to him well.

He starts by ordering America to undress, though he sometimes does it himself, and the after admiring his brother’s body, begins to worship it. Canada learned all of his skills from France and in the all the world there is no better teacher. Soon he has Alfred withering beneath him from his ministrations. He’s begging for Canada to take him, and Canada isn’t one to be cruel and make him wait.

Their love making is always passionate; Canada loves the feeling of being inside of America and he knows his brother loves him being there. And in the end they’re both left panting, sticky, and exhausted. Before they fall into the blissful arms of sleep they share a kiss and close their eyes.

Tomorrow it starts all over again.


	4. Bud I want one!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some notes/translations:  
> 1\. “Non, non, non mon chou.” - no, no, no my cabbage  
> 2.C’est funny Alfred - That's funny  
> 3\. Yes the 'hon, hon, hon' is a Simpsons reference, the one where Lisa goes to the wrong school and the kids in the French are laughing at her. "Non, non en Francais." "Hon, hon, hon."  
> 4\. Come ton frère - Like your brother  
> 5\. Yukaflux - is a Canadian prairies party drink made with lots of alcohol and fruit. It's very good =D  
> 6\. Ge vay te tooay. - Je vais te tué - I'm going to kill you  
> 7\. Elmer Fudd reference FTW!

Alfred glared up at the man standing before him with a look that spoke volumes about the anger, hate and loathing that he was currently feeling towards this particular individual. Any other man would have run in fear at the sight of his glare, but no it didn’t seem to be having any effect on this man.

Said man just gave him a drunken smile and waggled one long gloved finger at him. “Non, non, non mon chou.” In the other hand he was holding the bottle of Budweiser in his other hand, just out of Alfred’s reach.

“Francis. . .” Alfred ground out dangerously. “Give me the beer and I won’t hurt you.”

Francis chortled at that, nearly falling over. It was obvious he was drunk. And how could he not be? He’d found and drank every bottle of beer in the house except for the one he now held in his hand. That was ten bottles, Alfred didn’t know many men who could drink that many and still be standing like Francis was.

“Ze age of drinking iz not you.” Francis told him, waving the bottle for emphasis. Alfred some how doubt he realized what he was saying made no sense.

There had to be another way around this, maybe a distraction was in order. It wasn’t a very heroic thing to do but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Look Francis look! A naked Arthur!”

Francis didn’t even look. Instead he let out another arrogant laugh and then took a chug out of Alfred’s last Bud. “C’est funny Alfred. But I ‘ave left ze Arthur unconscious in ze guest room. I gave ‘im a good fucking oui? Like ze cowboy!” This comment was accompanied by that laugh Alfred was starting to hate. It really did sound just like the laugh on that one episode of the Simpsons. It was all ‘hon hon hon;’ annoying and arrogant at the same time. Oh how Alfred hated it.

That tidbit of information about Arthur’s current state was not something he had needed to know! Alfred needed that beer more than ever now; if only to get rid of the current image of Francis riding Arthur like a horse out of his head.

It was time to resort to the last tactic in his arsenal. So far glaring, threatening and trying a diversion had all failed. That left only one option. Begging.

“Please Francis, just one!” Alfred begged, looking up at the taller man with what he hoped was a pitiful face. “My human form may only be nineteen but I’m over two hundred years old!”

“Non.” Francis said as he drained the last of the Budweiser and let out a completely out of character belch. “You ‘ave zes rules that you vished for. You must obey zem as well. Come ton frère.” He added in French, gesturing to Matthew’s house not that far away, but across the border.

Of course he didn’t realize until after that this wasn’t the best example, Alfred could see the realization dawn on his face. This was especially true when Matthew waved at them from his house with a huge grin on his face. “You guys gotta come join this party! This batch of yukaflux turned out great!”

Alfred turned to offer Francis a murderous glare and was delighted to see the drunkard looking nervous. “Francis.” He said, feeling a wide grin spread across his face. “Ge vay te tooay.” He said not caring how bad his French was, because Francis seemed to have gotten the meaning of it anyway for he was already running like mad toward Matthews house.

Grabbing a shot gun from his gun case Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle evilly. He may not be old enough to drink legally but he could own a gun and shoot it at any intruders onto his property. And right now French was an intruder. “Be vewy quiet. . .I’m hunting Fwenchies.” He said in his best imitation of Elmer Fudd before he set off after Francis, revenge very much the first thing on his mind.

Across the border he could hear Matthew’s drunken laughter and it only helped fuel him on. Francis was a dead frog.


	5. Five Times the Colour Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character death

The first time America realizes he hates the colour red is when he fights for his independence. He cares little for the British and their red coats he knew they were the enemy after all. What starts his hate of the colour is the sight of his brother standing beside England fighting against him. It helps to fuel his anger against the British and to call on France’s aid.

His victory is somewhat hollow as his brother remains under the control of the Britain.

\--

The second time America realizes he hates red is in 1814 as he watches the White House burn. He feels anger as he watches the red flames lick at the wood, the smoke so thick in the air he can barely breathe. Beyond it he sees his brother staring back at him angrily a torch in his hand.

\--

The third time he realizes he hates the colour red is watching as his brother becomes his own country. When Canada is officially born as its own separate nation America realizes that he can no longer try and force the other to become one with him. It angers him more than he ever realized something could.

\--

The fourth time he realizes he hates the colour red is during the Cold War. He watched Canada closely as he makes friends with those that are America’s enemies; Vietnam and Cuba. He was even on polite terms with the Soviet Union who is America’s greatest enemy. America begins to see a side of his brother he doesn’t like.

\--

The fifth time America realizes he hates the colour red is during 2010. Canada is now in the eyes of the world. Not only is he first out of the recession, he holds the Winter Olympics and excels at them, and then comes both the G8 and G20. Canada had become the darling of the world and America bushed to the shadows.

In America’s mind the world was trying to take his brother for themselves and he would not allow that to happen.

\--

It is not until he stares down at his brother covered in his own bright red blood that he realizes how much he loves the colour red. Leaning down he licks Matthew’s cheek, lapping up the thick crimson stream that has trailed down his face. It is warm on his tongue and tastes of iron. “Red really is your colour Matthew, you look so good covered in it.”

Smiling he begins to hum a little tune as he slowly rocks his brother’s body lovingly. Now no one can ever take him away.


	6. Nostalgia

Sometimes as Francis stands in the market place picking out the freshest ingredients for a dinner with one nation or another; he cannot help but be taken back to a time long ago. When he hears someone call out ‘papa!’ his first instinct is to always turn around as though any moment a little blond head will be running towards him, arms out stretched in welcome, crying that he has been gone too long.

Those years however are long gone; now instead of being greeted by a running little boy he is greeted by a brief hug and a ‘how have you been?’ His little Matthew is all grown up and sometimes Francis regrets that he did not make more of the time he and Matthew had together while the other was young. But the past is often full of regrets and truly Francis has many.

“Franciiiis! Tell Matt to stop pushing me!”

“Alfred hit me first!”

“Bloody hell, you two stop fighting!”

And sometimes Francis realizes that even though he lost one child somehow he gained three in place. “Now, now; Matthew stop pushing Alfred, Alfred apologize to your brother and Arthur my dear do try to keep from strangling them.” He said all as he looks over at the selection of fish spread out before him. Truly perhaps he has not lost his child, no children, at all.


	7. Two Beds and a Coffee Machine

Arthur has a drinking problem. It's up to anon if he's abusive while drunk, never around, or wahtever. I just want some angst with Francis trying to deal with this and trying to do what's best for the twins.

Bonus: At some point Francis takes the boys and stays with either Antonio or Gilbert.

The room is filled with the sound of screaming and things breaking. An antique teapot smashes against the wall just missing Francis’ head as he tries desperately to calm Arthur down from his furry.

He doesn’t get a chance to say much though as he’s grabbed by the neck and forced over the edge of the couch. “Cheat on me will you?” Arthur growls into his ear as he pulls at Francis’ pants, not bothering to listen to his husband’s pleas.

Any protests are soon cut short by Francis’ scream of agony as Arthur rams himself in. He’s soon burying his face in a cushion so that the twins won’t hear his cries of pain.

And she takes another step  
Slowly she opens the door  
Check that he is sleeping  
Pick up all the broken glass  
And furniture on the floor

Hours later Arthur has passed out on the floor and Francis takes the chance to go and shower. There’s caked blood and seamen between his thighs and inside him. There are also other cuts and bruises to deal with.

When he gets to the bathroom and sees himself in the mirror he can’t help but laugh bitterly at how he looks; a black eye, bleeding lip and scrapes and bruises on his arms. He supposes he’s looked worse but right now he doesn’t have time to dwell on that as he gets into the shower to clean himself off.

Been up half the night screaming  
Now it's time to get away  
Pack up the kids in the car  
Another bruise to try and hide  
Another alibi to write

Once he’s out of the shower he gets out his make-up kit and carefully applies it to any visible sign of injury he can. When he’s done he looks like he’s only had a sleepless night, for the most part at least . . . he can’t hide the pain he sees in his own eyes. He takes a minute to reflect on how much he’s perfected covering up the signs of Arthur’s abuse over the years.

A bitter laugh bubbles up from his throat as tears threaten to escape him. No! He doesn’t have time for this; he has to get Matthew and Alfred. It’s not safe for them here, at least not until Arthur sobers up.

Another ditch in the road  
You keep moving  
Another stop sign  
You keep moving on  
And the years go by so fast  
Wonder how I ever made it through

Getting up he goes gets Matthew and Alfred, both are so deeply asleep they don’t register being moved. For once he’s glad they are heavy sleepers like their father. He grabs the car keys and unlocks the car before putting the boys in their car seats. Matthew mumbles something but is soon still once more.

Their emergency overnight bags are in the trunk, hidden behind the spare tire. Francis makes sure to wash the clothes and keep it stocked with anything they may need after every one of their trips. He’s relieved that Arthur never cares to look in the trunk, after all Francis usually does all the groceries.

It takes three tries to start the car with how hard his hands are shaking, but eventually he manages. Soon they are out of the drive way on the road to safety.

And there are children to think of  
Baby’s asleep in the back seat  
Wonder how they'll ever make it  
Through this living nightmare  
But the mind is an amazing thing

When they get to the familiar hotel off of Route 22; Francis puts the boys in one of the two beds in the room and kisses their foreheads lovingly. Alfred rolls on to his side and pulls Matthew into his arm; a hero even in their sleep. Matthew is clinging to his stuffed bear Kumajirou even as he curls into his brother's embrace.

Francis feels tears come to his eyes again and this time he can’t hold them back. How long? How much longer before he can’t keep them safe from their father? He knows Arthur would never hurt them on purpose; he loves the boys with all his heart and soul. When he starts drinking he isn’t Arthur anymore, and Francis isn’t sure he won’t turn his anger on them if Francis’ doesn’t keep him distracted with himself.

He won’t ever give up in protecting his children. No matter how much Arthur hurts him. . .even in death he promises he will keep them safe.

 

Full of candy dreams and new toys  
And another cheap hotel  
Two beds and a coffee machine  
But there are groceries to buy  
And she knows shell have to go home

Francis feels so tired suddenly; mind, body, and soul. How much longer can he keep this up? His friends have told him to leave Arthur for good but he can’t, they don’t understand how much he loves Arthur and how much Arthur loves him. If he could just get him to stop drinking then everything would be alright . . . just like it used to be.

Everything had started out perfect; even if they fought it was usually just little spats over silly things. After they moved in together and got married things had been even better; then when they adopted Alfred and Matthew, just babies who had recently lost their parents. With the addition of the boys their family truly was complete.

But then Arthur had lost his job and started drinking in frustration. After months with no luck in finding one his drinking had gotten bad. He was sensible enough to drink away from home but when he got back. . .

Francis will never forget the first time Arthur hit him, just like he will never forget the night Arthur first forced himself onto Francis.

Another ditch in the road  
You keep moving  
Another stop sign  
You keep moving on  
And the years go by so fast  
Wonder how I ever made it through

Without realizing it Francis is reaching for the phone dialling one of two familiar numbers. He listens to the phone ring; once, twice, three times and is about to give up when a familiar voice angrily answers the phone in German.

“G-Gilbert . . . I’m scared. . .” His voice shakes even as his body does. “He hurt me again . . . I-I took the boys and left after he passed out.”

There is silence on the other end before Gilbert curses. “Where are you?”

Francis sniffled a little and wiped at his eyes feeling silly for crying even though his friend couldn’t see him. “At the Garden Motel it’s off Route 22. . .room 7.”

“Stay there okay? I’ll call Antonio and we’ll be there shortly.” He can hear the worry in Gilbert’s voice, worry and pain. Francis can’t help but feel guilty for causing his friend so much trouble.

“D-don’t bother Antonio. . .it’s Tuesday he works early tomorrow.”

He’s not prepared for Gilbert’s angry retort. “Don’t be stupid! He’ll want to be there to. Just don’t go anywhere and don’t answer the door until we come.”

Francis nods weakly and then because Gilbert can’t see him replied with a soft ‘okay’ before hanging up.

Another bruise to try and hide  
Another alibi to write  
Another lonely highway in the black of night  
There's hope in the darkness  
I know you're gonna make it

By the time Gilbert and Antonio arrive Francis is crying in earnest. When he hears the voices of his friends’ approaching, he opens the door and throws himself into their arms sobbing. As they embrace him and pet his hair telling him its okay, he feels safe for the first time in months. He knows it won’t last though so he’ll enjoy it for now.

He lets Gilbert pick him up and cradle him like a child as Antonio goes and gets the boys. Since Francis’ car has the child seats he buckles them in there and then gets their bags and puts them into his own car, which he and Gilbert took to get here. Gilbert places Francis in the passenger seat of his car so that he can keep an eye on the boys before climbing into the driver’s seat. They drive to Antonio’s because he has a spare room and because Gilbert doesn’t want to bother Elizaveta; even though she’ll be angry at him in the morning for not waking her.

Francis watches the scenery pass by as Gilbert drives. The car is silent except for the sound of the boys sleeping and the song that is playing on the radio. As he listens to it Francis can’t help but feel the song has been written for him. As the last part of the song plays his eyes slowly fall closed and he can’t help but ask how he will make it through.

Another ditch in the road  
Keep moving  
Another stop sign  
You keep moving on  
And the years go by so fast  
Silent fortress built to last  
Wonder how I ever made it


	8. Warming Up

Matthew could never have imagined that a day that had begun with a friendly game of hockey could end so disastrously. Then again given that it was he and Alfred playing said game, and his brother being so competitive, it really should not have come as any surprise that something was bound to go wrong. After all didn’t it always? Now because of his brother’s competitiveness, and an impromptu dip in the river, he was stuck dealing with a hypothermic Alfred.

“Here Alfred I brought you some chicken noodle soup.” Matthew said as he made his way into the living room where Alfred was bundled up in a thermal blanket on the pullout couch and watching some hero movie on TV.

Matthew had originally suggested Alfred take the guest bedroom while he tried to get himself warmed up but Alfred had insisted, between much teeth chattering, that he be placed in the living room where he could at least have something to look at while he was trapped in misery.

Being nations of course a little hyperthermia wouldn’t kill them but that didn’t make it pleasant to deal with.

Currently Alfred just seemed to be staring at the TV blankly not really registering the movie he was watching. Matthew had looked up the signs of hypothermia and it seemed that Alfred was suffering mild hypothermia which included symptoms such as shivering, lethargy, apathy, confusion and a rapid heart rate. The best thing was to get him warmed up in ways that his body wasn’t touching heat directly. This was why Matthew had bundled him up in a thermal blanket and made chicken noodle soup for him that was placed in a bowl within a bowl so as not to burn Al’s fingers. There was of course one other way to heat up a person and that was body heat.

Matthew placed the soup on the side table and climbed on to the make shift bed pressing right up against Alfred after getting under the blanket before reaching for the soup and passing it over to Alfred.

“Thanks.” Alfred said distractedly as he carefully blew on the soup before taking a spoonful. “It’s good.”

“Of course it’s good! I made it after all.” Matthew joked disappointed when Alfred didn’t really react. Oh well, there wasn’t much to be done about it with Alfred in this state Matthew was just going to have to take care of him and then when he got better tease him mercilessly about it all. All in good fun of course.

For now though he wrapped his arms around Alfred and pulled the other close to himself in older to share his body heat. He could see Alfred smile slightly as he laid his head on Matthew’s shoulder and continued to watch his movie while eating his soup.

Matthew couldn’t help but think to himself that maybe today hadn’t been so bad after all.


	9. The Bird, the Bees, and the Misunderstanding

“England I just learned the most wonderful thing today!” France called excitedly as he ran toward the younger nation.

England merely scoffed and went back to focusing on working on his bow. “Was it on how to be a boy? I’m sure that would be very exciting.”

France giggled as he plopped down next to England. “I suppose that you could say that. Rather it’s that I’ve learned how to become a true man.” He leaned closer as though he were about to reveal some great secret. “Today I learned about . . . sex.”

Not at all impressed England went back to his bow making. “I already know about sex you dolt; I’ve seen enough animals do it.”

“Oh but that’s not how it works with people!” France said slyly. “It’s much, much different.”

“I bloody doubt that.” England said in reply wanting France to just sod off and leave him in peace.

That was too much to ask. “Since I am your wise and kind big brother I will impart to you the wisdom that I have learned, so that you too may be educated in the ways of sex.”

Rolling his eyes, England’s only reply was an annoyed ‘lucky me’, which of course was ignored by France as he began to tell his tale on the proper ways that humans have sex.

“First the man comes up to the woman and goes ‘how much for a night’. The woman tells him a price and he pays her, then they go into a building.”

Despite how ridiculous it all sounded England couldn’t help but be interested in France’s explanation; it was certainly a lot different than how animals did it.

France continued his story with exaggerated hand gestures to accompany the tale. “Then they start kissing and removing their clothes. When they are naked he tells her ‘on your knees whore’ and she does so then he puts his thingy into her.”

Thingy did not sound like the proper name for what they had but England chose to ignore it. France was older after all so he knew about these things, or at least liked to think he did.

“Then there is much grunting and moaning and ‘oh god so good.’” France said making sounds that made England think of a dying animal. “And then he grunts and she goes ooooh and that is all.”

“Right. . .” England said trying not to sound as unimpressed as he was, scratch that he was really unimpressed. After all if that was it then why would anyone want to have sex? “Well then now that you are done boring me to death I have some hunting to do.” He said gathering his things.

“How mean.” France said and when England looked up he was pouting. “I came all the way here to tell you so that you too could be educated.”

“Appreciated, really,” But not of course. “Now I really need to go. Uh you look pretty and all that.” He added just to keep France from following him, he knew how much France liked a compliment and it would have him preening long enough for England to escape.

Of course it was not a lie; France was very pretty and maybe someday England would tell him to get ‘on your knees whore,’ just like it apparently was appropriate to do during sex. For now though escape was best and he did just that making his way into the forest where he knew France would not follow him.


	10. Girls and their toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genderbent

"Absolutely not. I do not know what that thing is but it is not going anywhere near my lady parts."

"Come now cherie, it will be fun! The box said it was the best one on the market!"

"The best one for what? Utter vaginal destruction? I said no and I mean it!"

"You are no fun. I thought you would enjoy it! Look it is even in that shade of green you like so much!"

"NO! How about we try it on you if you're so in love with it?"

"I know that is sarcasm but I have no issues. I am at least willing to try new things!"

"W-what!? You're bloody insane frog! That thing could. . .I don't know what it could do but it would not be pleasant!"

"It's a sex toy mon amour, it's not a weapon of mass destruction. Now are we going to try it or not? I am getting quite cold sitting here naked. If you are not going to use the toy at least do something."

"F.i.n.e., but don't blame me if you're sorry in the morning, stupid woman."

"If description is right I will not mind being sore."

*later*

"Shut up."

"I told you it would be wonderful. It is too bad I passed out before I could use it on you. My but look how far I squirted!"

"I said shut up. And you're cleaning that up in the morning.

"Mmm I love you too cherie. Now come snuggle with me and I promise to make it up to you~"

"Bloody frog."


	11. Goodbye is Not Forever

It was all for the best. France told himself as he stared across the table at England, while their bosses spoke about the new treaty between them. I cannot protect him and England will raise him well, like he has young America. . .but oh I will miss him so.

It was agony, this decision by his bosses to give up New France to the English in exchange for Guadeloupe.

Oh his beloved little colony! How would he fair on English food and raised with English disciplines? Would he turn into the strong nation France wanted to raise him to? Or would he be just another pawn of England’s to move around.

His beautiful, little child. France had loved being a bit brother to him and raising him in the ways of the French. Would he forget all that under English rule? France fervently hoped not.

His attention was drawn back to the proceedings, where the two men shook hands. That was it then New France, no Canada was no longer his. Turning he stormed out of the chamber and headed to the child’s bedroom. It was time to say goodbye.

He was greeted with a large hug and huge smile as he entered Canada’s room. It caused him to wince, especially when the force of it caused the wounds he had received over the course of the war to flare up in pain. “Gently.” He said as he pet the young nations hair affectionately.

“I missed you big brother!” Canada said as he looked up at him with those large indigo eyes.

“I missed you too little one. . .and I will miss you every day from now on.” France said as he picked Canada up and hug him, pressing a kiss to his forehead and burying his face in the boy’s soft hair to avoid showing any tears.

“What do you mean?” Canada asked, his voice small and full of concern. “You are coming back soon right?”

Francis shook his head. “No little one.” He said as he carried the child of to his bed and sat down with him in his lap. “You have a new big brother now, one who will be able to take care of you more than I ever could.”

Canada’s eyes went wide as tears gathered in them. “No! I want only you France! Do not leave me!” He cried as he clung to France’s coat. “Please, I will be a better little brother if that is what it takes!”

“My dear sweet child, you are the most perfect little brother ever.” France whispered, rocking the now sobbing child. “But I can no longer care for you as once I could. And your new big brother will take care of you, I promise you that.” He said as he kissed Canada’s forehead. “I love you Canada, never forget that.”

Canada nodded and hugged him tighter doing nothing but sobbing. Eventually a voice broke through the otherwise silent room. “It’s time for you to go frog.”

France smiled bitterly and pressed another kiss to Canada’s soft hair. “Goodbye my little one. Be good for your new big brother and one day, we will see each other again.” He said before sitting Canada down on the bed and left the room, doing his best not to turn bad and wrap his arms around the child who was calling for him desperately.

He stopped momentarily to glare at England. “If you should hurt him, I will never forgive you.”

“Don’t worry frog, I’ll take good care of him and America both.” England replied gloatingly. It was with this and England’s laughter in his ears that France left the home and the life of his young ward, perhaps forever and perhaps not.


	12. A Revolution of the Mind

When did everything go so wrong? Arthur wonders to himself as he gazes across the channel, imagining he can see what is on the other side, or rather who.

In his minds eye he sees Francis sitting in the Bastille for being an ally of the monarchy. Or perhaps he is standing next to his precious Madame Guillotine as she takes the life of another of his citizens. In both visions Francis laughs and cries.

What else can a mad man do?

Arthur truly does not understand is how something that began with the betterment of mankind came to this mockery of entire Enlightenment.

What began with Francis’ Descartes and Bayle and his own Bacon and had ended with these charlatans who labelled themselves as the new generation of philosophers; Brissot, Volney, traitors to their predecessors all!

Perhaps Arthur had never been as heavily into the Enlightenment as Francis had; though he had a few laughs that Francis’ 'prized philosophes' followed his own philosophers so well.

Arthur remembers them fondly; Bacon, Locke, Newton. They were his pride and joy, even if their ideals helped to push his American colonies away. Their ideas were revolutionary and would help change the world . . . at least that was what they had all thought.

It was the hope for all of them that this Enlightenment would bring about some change . . . but the change was not enough.

Even the so called ‘Enlightened monarchs’ could not sustain the ideals presented before them; Frederick the Great, Catherine the Great, Maria Theresa and her son Joseph II. How many of them truly believed in the freedom that was preached? War, Frederick the Great attacking a weekend Austria, had he not been so keen to be Enlightened that he had ordered Voltaire put under house arrest to keep him from leaving? Had the benevolent and wise Catherine the Great not asked Diderot to create a type of constitution for her and even purchased his entire library and allowed him to keep it when he was in dire need of funds; yet this same monarch invaded other countries making them one with Russia.

Did he have a right to criticize them though? Even though his government was looked upon positively by many of the philosophes, he had been no different then all the others . . . and Francis . . . what a fool.

Where had believing in the visions of the great thinkers gotten them?

No where.

Voltaire had been right when he advocated against the writings of d’Holbach and Diderot, all those Spinozists who pushed and pushed with their ‘revolution of the mind. Disappointed in the American Revolution were they? Perhaps they would have preferred the Dutch Revolution. But this . . . Arthur sincerely doubted this was what they had wanted.

Damned fanatics! He could blame them all: Voltaire, d’Holbach, Diderot, Galiani, Condorcet, d’Alembert, Helvetius, Kant, Rousseau, there had been so many of these great men trying to change the world.

Rousseau, damn him the most! These blasted fake philosophers, the Jacobins particularly, were all for his writings. Arthur truly believed the man had been mad with revenge in almost everything he did. Why else would he conduct himself as he had after his split with the others?

Not that there had not been a rift already forming before his leaving of the celebrated ‘Republic of Letters.’ No the split had been long coming. The ideas of those who followed Spinoza were much too radical, pushing for not only a revolution of the mind but eventually a physical revolution as well.

Ask and ye shall receive, Arthur thinks bitterly as he imagines the smoke and stench of death and fear that must surround France at this moment.

“Are you happy now?” He asks the empty air before turning and heading inside.

He has an idiot to save from himself after all.


	13. Amour de Noël

In the fireplace a fire burns brightly casting light and warmth into the room which is decorated for Christmas. There are wreaths on the walls, stockings hanging off the mantle of the fire place, a small but lovingly decorated tree in one corner, and hanging over the entrance to the living room a small little sprig of mistletoe.

Beneath this are two men locked in an embrace and passionate kiss. Eventually they part both flushed slightly from their kiss.

“Joyeux Noël Arthur.”

“Merry Christmas Francis.”

Hand in hand the two head over to the couch, Francis curling up on it as Arthur retrieves the presents.

They receive many gifts from those close to them; Matthew, Alfred, Feliciano, Kiku and others as well gifts from Antonio and Gilbert for Francis alone. Arthur refuses to allow Francis to put the homoerotic glass statue on the mantel for to see, no matter how much Francis pleads with him.

All that is left after is to exchange their gifts. Some of the items are little things that they enjoy; a channel sweater for Francis, a book on Harry Potter cross-stitch patterns, some are gag gifts, a ‘cooking for dummies book’, and a waxing kit.

The last two gifts however are both small and shaped similarly.

Arthur and Francis look up at each other before opening them, meeting each others eyes. One could almost say they had planned this, but both were shocked at the similarity of their gifts.

Slowly they unwrap their gifts revealing identical blue boxes. The rings lying within are different styles, one gold and the other yellow gold, inside each band a different message.

On Arthur’s Irish style gold ring is written:  
Je t’aime; hier, aujourd’hui, toujours

On Francis’ white gold wrap style ring:  
To you I entrust my love

Tears spring to their eyes and soon they are embracing and kissing, pulling away only to slip the rings on to each others ring fingers. Their kind do not marry, but this is truly the next best thing; a promise to always love each other.

Indeed theirs is a love that has been growing for centuries, from the first moment they stood across from each other; a wild boy facing a lovely one, until this moment sitting before the roaring fire on a snowy Christmas eve as they kiss again, hands entwined and love blooming even more between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Joyeux Noël Arthur.” = Merry Christmas Arthur  
> Je t’aime; hier, aujourd’hui, toujours = I love you; Yesterday, Today, always


	14. King Arthur: A Dramatization

"So I'm supposed to sleep with your wife?"

"Well yes that's how it goes in the story."

"And just who is your wife in this case?

"Um. . .how about Belgium?"

"She is too much like a little sister. If you want this accurate it will have to be someone else."

"How about Hungary?"

"Isn't she laying one of the knights? I'm pretty sure you promised her she would be allowed to maim Gilbert."

"Oh bullocks I did. What about Ukraine?"

"I like my manhood thank you very much. You know Russia will not let anyone touch her."

"Belarus?"

"The above comment about my manhood stands."

"Well you have to sleep with someone!"

"I could sleep with you~"

"W-what! The bloody hell you are frog!"

"Who says we can't give it a little twist~ Instead of sleeping with Guinevere, King Arthur is wooed by the handsome Lancelot."

"I am not ruining one of my most beloved stories just so you can sleep with me."

"Then you're going to have to give the role of Lancelot to Spain and have Romano be Guinevere. I warn you though; he's been in a foul mood as of late."

“Bloody frog! Fine! We’ll do a rewrite but this is not turning into some sort of perverted porno!”

“My dear king I would never suggest such a thing. This humble knight exists but to serve you in every way.”

“Argh! S-Stupid idiot!”

“Oh my what a mighty blush! And you call me the perverted one!”

“ARGHHHHHH!!!!!”


	15. In the Light of the Fire

Childhood Francis and Arthur getting lost in the woods after having an argument with each other, and make up by comforting each other - at night with Arthur saying that he sees trolls/gremlins/creatures of the night wondering the woods too.

“It’s your fault we’re lost.” Francis grumbled as he pulled twigs from his hair irritably.

“It is not!” Arthur said as he looked around desperately for any familiar signs. In reality it was his fault, but he wouldn’t admit that to Francis. How was he to know the sprite he’d been talking to was in a devilish mood and would trick them by leading them on the wrong path through the woods? Honestly! It’s not like he could read their moods or anything just because he could see and talk to them.

Behind him Francis whined as he stepped in a puddle of mood and one of his fine slippers was ruined. “My poor slipper is ruined and my feet hurt! It’s getting dark; can’t we stop for the night?”

As annoying as the other boy was he was right. It was dark and walking through the woods at night was a bad idea. Arthur couldn’t see them yet but he knew the dark creatures of the night, like trolls and gremlins, would be roaming the dark and if they found two children wandering alone at night . . . well Arthur had never been told what happened to children taken by these creatures but he knew it couldn’t be good.

“Alright, we have to find a thicket and we can’t sleep without a fire going!” Arthur said sternly as he squinted in the dark for the perfect spot. It was so hard in the dark and it didn’t help that he had Francis behind him mumbling about being ready to just fall asleep where he was standing.

Arthur shook his head. “Common.” They continued walking until Arthur spotted exactly what he was looking for. “Here sit down and be quiet while I make a fire.” He was glad when Francis listened to him without complaining. There were enough branches and such nearby to start the fire but they’d need to gather more before sleeping to ensure the fire did not go out.

Once the fire was started Arthur sighed in relief, finally able to really see as the light of the fire chased away the darkness. He looked over to see how Francis was doing and couldn’t help but feel bad for the older boy. Francis was a mess; he had twigs in his hair, his clothes were torn and dirty, and one of his feet was shoeless and caked in mud, it also looked like he’d gotten a cut on his hand at some point during their trek through the woods.

“Here.” Arthur took off his cloak and offered it to Francis. “It’ll keep you warm while I go and find wood. I’ll be back soon so don’t go anywhere, it’s dangerous out there.”

Francis sniffed in disdain but accepted the cloak. “As if I want to go anywhere; I’m perfectly content here by the fire.”

Arthur only shook his head and stepped out of the thicket and began to search for wood, making sure to keep the campfire within sight. Luckily there were enough fallen branches around that he managed to collect a few good piles, needing to make a few trips, before he felt they had enough.

“Alright we should be good for the night. As long as we stay in here and keep the fire going they won’t be able to get us.” Arthur said as he plopped down next to Francis.

“They?” The other boy asked sleepily, fighting back a yawn as he stared over at Arthur.

Arthur nodded. “The trolls and gremlins, they don’t like fire at all and a thicket is a safe place.”

Francis giggled a little at that. “You and your silly stories, those creatures don’t really exist.”

“They do!” Arthur said angrily, pinching Francis’ arm and frowning at how cold the other boy seemed to still be. He really was such a pansy. “They’re coming too, I can hear them. They’ll be here soon probably.”

“Do you want big brother to keep you safe?” Francis asked as he pulled Arthur close covering him with the cloak. “I will make sure the big bad troll does not get you.”

Arthur yelped but didn’t try to get away, it was nice being snuggled against Francis like this. Besides this way they would both stay warm throughout the night. He didn’t mention that the trolls would probably prefer Francis because he was so pretty, he doubted the other would believe him anyway. 

“Shut it.” He groused instead as he fought back a yawn. “As long as the fire keeps going we’ll be fine.”

“Then we will take turns making sure it does.” Was Francis’ reply, interrupted by a yawn on his part. “For now I think we should sleep; I am tired and perhaps by morning someone will come and find us.”

Arthur nodded, ignoring the ugly face peering at them from just outside of the ring of tress. You won’t get him you ugly beast. I’ll make sure of it Snuggling closer to Francis he closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Even if he doesn’t know it I’ll be Francis’ protector. . .after all he’s too pathetic to do it himself It was the last thought that entered his mind before he drifted off to sleep more comfortable and happy than he’d been in awhile, not that he would ever admit that too anyone.


	16. Ode to New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pregnant France’s water broke, cue chaos

There’s nothing like sitting in the living room in front of a nice fire doing embroidery while your very pregnant wife is lying on the couch reading a pornographic magazine. Arthur thinks to himself with a smile as he glances over at Francis.

Yes it was all perfect until Francis casually said. “My water just broke.” 

Then all hell broke loose.

“Oh god! Oh crap!” Arthur cried as he dropped his embroidery and started to run around like a maniac. “I have to get the over night bag! Call the hospital! I have to get. . .oh god!” 

Running upstairs Arthur began throwing things out of the closet looking for the bag they had packed in anticipation for this. He couldn’t find it! Had it walked off? Stumbling downstairs he looked round in a panic. “I can’t find the bag!”

“It’s in the hall closet you dolt.” Francis replied as she calmly folded up her magazine and put it in her purse. “Call the hospital before you forget the number or something you ninny.”

She’d taken to calling him a ninny since her pregnancy, most likely from being around him too much. Arthur didn’t reflect on that though, instead he called up the ambulance and babbled out that they would be coming in because his water’s wife had broke! No, wait his wife’s water had broke! The hospital staff told him to calm down and that there was no need to panic, they would be prepared to receive Francis when she arrived.

While all this was happening Francis had calmly gone upstairs to change into some dry clothes, and come back down to put on her flats and jacket. “Arthur are we going or not?”

“Going? Oh yes! Of course!” Grabbing the bag and keys Arthur was out the door, in the car, and taking off before he had time to really think about it. Half way down the street he realized he’d forgotten Francis. Sheepishly he drove back and apologized as she climbed in the car sending him a withering glare.

“I love you?” He offered with a small smile. The look he received in reply told him it was best to shut up and drive.

Fifteen minutes later they’re at the hospital and for Arthur it isn’t soon enough. Francis’ contractions have started and she has some very colourful ways of describing his death. His least favourite is being hung off London Bride by his balls covered in acid while the buzzards pick at his flesh. 

An hour later the death threats have gotten more creative and are now peppered with French curses that Arthur is sure would male his grandmother’s ears red, and grandmother Kirkland is as bad with swearing as a sailor. It’s why Francis liked her so much.

Twelve hours later and Francis’ is finally being wheeled into the delivery room. The babies were certainly taking their time coming out and Arthur swore to make their teen years as embarrassing as possible in retaliation for what he had been put through at their mother’s hands. Of course all thoughts of revenge are soon over run with pain as Francis threatens to break his hands while giving birth. More swear words and colourful ways to blame him for the pain she is going through spill from Francis’ lips. Grandma Kirkland would truly be proud; grandma Bonnefoy would have a heart attack, the Lord rest her soul.

Another two hours and suddenly a new sound accompanied Francis, and Arthur’s own, screams of pain; the sound of a new life. 

Arthur didn’t get a chance to see the baby before his fingers were being crushed again as the child’s brother or sister began to push through as well. 

Not long after Arthur had his hands full of two baby boys, one crying for all his might and the other fairly quiet. To Arthur they were one of the most beautiful things in the world, next to their mother.

Leaning down he showed Francis their beautiful baby boys and was struck by how beautiful she looked at that moment, smiling up at him and their sons. 

“We did good.” He said lamely as he took the chair one of the nurses brought over for him.

Francis, bless her soul, still had her usual fight in her, even after giving birth. “You mean I did good, you stood there and screamed like a little girl.”

Arthur, wisely, chose not to comment; instead he was content to rock their boys as Francis watched him. “They look just like you; I bet they have your eyes too.”

Francis chuckled. “As long as they don’t get your eyebrows everything will be fine.” 

“That hurts love.” Arthur said pouting, and giving the boys each a kiss on the forehead. “Are we going to go with the names we chose?”

“Yes.” Francis says as she smiles beautifully and reaches out to touch each baby’s face. “Alfred and Matthew, our precious sons.”


	17. Cold Hands are the Devil’s F-You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Arthur are taking a winter walk. Francis doesn’t have gloves. Arthur is bitching him out (like usual, lol) and Francis decides to shut him up. Via sliding a very cold hand down the front of Arthur’s pants.

Honestly did Arthur have to complain about everything? Francis thought to himself as they took their daily walk through the city, today it was Berlin as they were in Germany for a meeting. So far though Arthur had not stopped gripping about everything and he was spending particular attention on gripping about Francis himself.

“Honestly frog those measures you’re boss is proposing? They’re ridiculous! And you’re striking over the retirement age? Preposterous!” 

Francis sighed and rubbed at his forehead, his hands cold from lack of gloves. “Do you have to complain about everything Angleterre?” He asked in frustration as Arthur scoffed next to him.

“I have every right to when you come up with idiotic ideas.” Arthur said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Feeling even more annoyed Francis had a brilliant idea as he tucked his hands into his armpits to warm them up. They said that the nether regions were the warmest part of the body and his hands were awfully cold; why not get a little revenge while warming them up?

Rounding on Arthur, he pushed the other against the wall of a nearby building, kissing him as a distraction. While Arthur sputtered he quickly too advantage of it and shoved one of his cold hands. The resulting shriek was well worth the punch he got in response.

“You bloody arsehole!” Arthur screamed, voice higher pitched then normal. “Were you trying to kill me! You ninny! Fat head! Sodding tosser!” A million and one insults poured from Arthur’s lips as he tried to beat Francis to a bloody pulp.

To Francis his little revenge was worth every insult and hit. The look on Arthur’s face had been beyond priceless.


	18. A Figure to Die For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis wearing a Mainbocher couture corsets for Arthur

Had he not known any better he would have sworn Francis was a woman. Even without that wonderfully delicious corset giving him the curves of a woman, even though he lacked in breasts.

When had Francis ever fully been a man though? Even as a young man he had always resembled a woman more than a man. 

He had no doubt that without the beard Francis would be just as girly as he had been when they were younger.

Arthur shudders as he watches Francis walk toward him, swaying as he moves and humming something under his breath.

He is wearing nothing other than that sinful garment; Arthur was surprised to find it was made by an American. Not that it matters because it looks like it was made solely for Francis.

And oh God Arthur wants to touch him.

He can feel his blood boiling, his breath quickening, and his heart drumming.

 _Bamp_ _Bamp_ _Bamp_

“Do I look beautiful?” Francis asks in a low purr, standing just so away from Arthur’s hands.

 _Beautiful, divine, sublime, like Aphrodite come from the heaves before me,_ is what Arthur wants to say.

“You look like a woman.” Is what comes out and Arthur curses his Britishness even as Francis laughs.

“From you that is a compliment.” He murmurs as he crawls on to the bed, the corset shifting as he moves.

It’s so sexy Arthur almost comes right then and there. 

But no, the best is yet to come.

Francis crawls into his lap running a hand down his chest. “Now my dear Arthur, just what shall I do with you?”

“Let me fuck you frog.”

“Always so eloquent.”

“Just do it you sexy bastard!”

Francis chuckles and moves to sit over his erection with a smirk.

He looks like an Adonis; the faint light makes his hair and skin glow, even giving the illusion of breasts because of that damn corset. 

Arthur swears that he is going to make sure Francis wears it nearly all the time because it is so incredibly sexy. He may even thank Alfred for making it. . . if he talks to the boy again.

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted though as heat, glorious, dizzying heat, envelopes him.

“Francis!” 

“That is my name cher.” Francis coos as he moves.

The entire thing is over too quickly for Arthur and he blames Francis though, stupid sexy jerk. 

He comes before Francis has really gotten going and is both embarrassed and horrified that he finished so quickly.

And Francis smiles and kisses him. No jokes, no jibes, nothing. He simply starts stroking himself and riding Arthur coming with a low moan.

Though it is not amazing sex, it is still nice; or at least Arthur thought so.

He holds Francis afterward feeling content and sleepy, and played with the strings from the corset.

“I think I like this.” 

Francis chuckles. “I knew you would.”

“You still look like a woman with it on.”

“Of course cher.” Francis says as he kisses Arthur before getting more comfortable and eventually falling asleep.

 _I love you_ Arthur says to him mentally before joining him in sleep.


	19. Before the Ashes of my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England takes what is rightfully his at the burning of Joan of Arc. Non-con

It was a horrifying sight, no matter who it was but today it was completely unbearable to watch. None within the crowd cheered or laughed, not for this execution. Not for the saviour of France.

The sight was so horrifying, that none gathered could find pleasure in it. There was no cheering or laughter from the crowed. Even though this girl was considered the enemy she was still a child, this saviour of France. The silence seemed to thicken as a lone figure walked into the area just as the wood began to catch fire.

"Jeanne." Though the name was a mere whisper but the pain it carried with it was beyond all compare. Stepping slowly forward on shaky legs, Francis reached out towards the figure tied to the stake eyes full of tears as he watched her gaze slowly fix on him. Suddenly he found his voice, screaming her name as he began to run toward her as she gave him a smile that conveyed nothing but her love for him.

Several guards knocked him down before he could get too far and held him there. He barely heard as someone walked up to him and kicked mud in his face. "Quite a sight isn't it?" A familiar voice asked as a young man with very prominent eyebrows knelt to him, grinning victoriously.

"I will kill you!" France screamed in fury as he glared up at the younger nation, feeling loathing fill him at the site of his smug grin. "You monster!"

Another bark of a laugh and another kick followed his comment, though this time the kick connected with Francis' face. "You dare to make such great threats against _I_ the powerful Britain Empire?! You the once great ‘kingdom’ of France, who know lays before me beaten."

Glancing at the guards, Arthur ordered them to force Francis into a standing position. “Look at you, so dirty. Let me get that for you…" He said as he slapped the mud from Francis’ face.

Francis ignored both his stinging cheek and Arthur, his gaze fixed on Jeanne's pained face. Even through his tears he could still see her clearly as the flames rose higher and higher. "Jeanne, my beautiful Jeanne. Please Lord save her." He prayed hopelessly, knowing no answer would come. God had already sent him a miracle, and he had let her be captured by the enemy. 

"Watch closely France! Watch as your savoir burns!" Arthur laughed, walking around Francis so that he was situated behind the other nation, and soon we was cutting Francis’ belt in half so that it fell to the ground uselessly. 

The feel of the blade so close to his body, and the sensation of his belt being cut off, caused Francis gaze to shift away from Jeanne momentarily. "W-what are you doing?" He asked in a chocked voice, scratchy from the screaming he had been doing.

“Just keep watching as she burns Francis, she is there because she tried to keep you from me.” Arthur whispered as he stroked Francis hair, freeing himself from his trousers with one hand. “My beautiful Francis.” He whispered as he stroked himself, though he was already hard.

Francis shook his head, letting out a pitiful whimper. "Please Artur, don't do this. You have already taken the most important person in the world from me." His voice shook as he spoke, his tears continuing to fall. "What more do you want from me?" 

"I want all of you Francis. I own you and it is about time you remembered it…" Arthur replied and pulled up Francis tunic and his smallclothes down, before thrusting into him with one quick movement.

The scream that was ripped from Francis at the action was enough to shatter anyone's heart. The pain was excruciating, but it did not compare to the pain in his heart only added to it. Francis could only jerk and struggle in the arms of the men holding him, trying to get away from the pain. His gaze however never left Jeanne, or rather her charred remains. All that was left of the young woman who had fought so hard for him was a burnt and crumbling body, completely unrecognizable anymore. She was truly gone.

This realization only added to Francis' pain, and to the desolation he felt. Suddenly it was as though all the fight drain out of him and he went limp in his captors’ arms, making no more than tiny whimpers of pain as Arthur continued to violate him.

Arthur continued on until Francis felt him still and his seed fill him, violation him further. Francis let out a whimper as Arthur pulled out of him, slapping his ass once and grinned at Francis with a smile crueller than the Devil’s.

"You belong to me." Arthur said, taking out his knife from his belt and carved a small rose and his initials into Francis' right thigh. "You will always be mine." He murmured in a parody of mock tenderness as he leaned forward to kiss the cut. “Always.”

Francis only let out a small cry of pain as Arthur carved the mark into his flesh, giving no other reaction to the other. When Arthur was done Francis simply hung limply in the arms of the guards, gaze unseeing, his tears the only evidence of the pain in his heart. 

Cruel smile never leaving his lips, Arthur pressed a bloody kiss to Francis’ cheek and turned to the guards. "Bring him to my room and have him cleaned up, I want to have a good celebration night!" As the guards did as they were told, Arthur turned back to the figure on the stake. “Looks like I win.” He said before turning away, intent on sending a night thoroughly enjoying his prize.


	20. It's a Trap!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England discovers France isn’t a girl

When he was young England had been struck by love at first sight even before he knew what love was. When he had first seen her at Rome’s side all blonde curls, large blue eyes, and a face even the fairies envied; he knew that they were destined to be. 

Of course he hadn’t counted on her being mean, but he could learn to live with that.

Once he told his brothers that he was going to marry France. He didn’t understand why they had laughed so hard. At the time it had just seemed they were complete jerks and making fun of him, they did that a lot after all. 

They had known the truth long before he had.

France was older than him, and it never really occurred to England as they both grew up why she hadn’t grown breasts even as a teenager. England really just thought that France was a late bloomer, after all not every girl grew breasts at the same time or had large ones.

England would love her no matter how big, or small, her breast were when they came in.

The first time England saw France naked everything finally slipped in to place. He’d been heading over to visit France when he heard humming from a clearing not far away, curious he had gone to check. He spotted France just as she was disrobing and then he knew.

Needless to say his reaction wasn’t the best.

First there was screaming, because oh lord the girl he was in love with wasn’t a girl at all! France had startled and turned toward England, giving him a lot more proof about France’ true gender. It was just too much for him. Really who wouldn’t take finding out that their one and only love was actually a boy badly?

The screaming was probably what alerted France to his presence.

This of course only served to confirm what England had already just discovered. France’s voice calling his name had snapped him out of his screaming but hadn’t helped much. Cursing France for all his worth, and for being a lying jerk, England had run away as fast as he could.

Invading France after had been satisfying.

It didn’t help at all in returning England’s youthful innocence, nor all the centuries he’d spent pinning after a woman who wasn’t a woman. It did serve a better purpose though. England found out that he liked France much better as a man; after all he didn't have treat him like a delicate flower anymore.

It was also so much more satisfying making him cry.


	21. Matching Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matching outfits/cups/toothbrushes/anything based on

Toothbrushes

Hair brushes

Ties

Hats and gloves

Shoelaces 

Boxers even!

Arthur stared in irritation at all the items Francis had purchased over the last few weeks without his knowledge.

“Is there a reason there’s two of almost everything?” He asked in disdain as he looked at in particular at the different sized boxers.

“It is cute non?” Francis said as he took out his pjs, the same ones Arthur had.

“No it’s not cute you stupid frog! It’s creepy! Why the hell do we have to have matching stuff?”

Francis only chuckled and hugged him from behind. “Oh Arthur you’ll get used to it. You won’t have a choice after all~”

Arthur wasn’t sure if he was more terrified by what Francis said or the tone of his voice. He didn’t have much chance to think it over though as he was suddenly jumped and reminded exactly why he kept the stupid frog around.


	22. The Challenges we Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur upset because he cannot give the newborn twins breast milk and they will not accept bottles

They had adopted the twins after Arthur’s sister had died in child birth. The children’s father was unknown and she had been single when she died. It wasn’t planned at all, and they had to scramble last minute to get everything they would need to take care of two newborn babies. It was just over a week later before they had the two living with them; the paper work for the adoption wasn’t solidified yet but they had been told there was no doubt the children would stay with them, Arthur having been next of kin and all. 

And now here they were; a young couple with two new babies they barely knew how to care for. They had both done a tone of research of course, but reading up on something and experiencing it were two different things. Neither of them was prepared for the reality of parenthood, or some of the unique problems that could arise from it. 

“They just won’t drink it.” Arthur said in a mixture of desperation and frustration as Francis rocked the twins. He seemed to have an easier time calming the babies down but neither of them could get the twins to eat properly. They refused to take the bottles until they were absolutely too weak and famished to refuse, and even then they sucked at them weakly.

“I know mon amour. We have to keep trying though, if not they will continue to get weaker.” Francis said as he pressed a kiss to both babies’ foreheads. They were sleeping for now and he took a moment to put them in the crib they had in the living room before going over to Arthur. “We will figure something out, we’re too stubborn not to.” 

Arthur shook his head angrily. “No! I’m failing her. . . I can’t be their mother! They want Eily not me! They want their mother and her milk! I’m just a cheap substitute!” He couldn’t hold back as tears began to fall from his eyes. 

Francis held him gently making soothing noises and murmuring that they were both doing the best they could.

“No, it’s not enough . . . it’ll never be enough.” Arthur said as he buried his face in Francis’ chest. “I’ll never be what they need. They need a mother and I’m just a weak replacement.” 

“You’re not her replacement Arthur, and you don’t have to be their mother. Be a parent to them; love them like yourself and not your sister.”

“But they want breast milk and neither of us can give them that! We’re men. . .”

Francis shushed him and kissed him gently. “There are ways to simulate it I’m sure. We can’t be the only parents in the world who can’t breast feed their babies. We will figure it out, just like we always do.”

“What if we can’t?” Arthur asked, not at all convinced that they could provide the twins what they needed in that aspect.

“Then we’ll make something that can. These are our children and we will be the best parents we can be. We’ll make sure that Alfred and Matthew both grow up healthy and strong.” Francis said as he held Arthur close, looking over at the crib where the twins were sleeping peacefully. “I’ll start looking and asking around alright? That way one of us can focus on making sure they continue eating.”

Arthur nodded and closed his eyes. They could do this; they had overcome every obstacle thrown at them so far, from Arthur’s family’s disapproval, to getting Francis a permanent British passport. Eily had been the only member of Arthur’s family to support his love of Francis and had been the maid of honour at their wedding. Arthur was determined to make sure that he would raise her children properly. Francis was right, he couldn’t be their mother but what he could be was the best damn father possible!


	23. Scars of the Past do not Always Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France freaking out due to horrible memories when England tries to top. Past non-con

Tonight would be the night, Arthur said to himself as he prepared the room. He and Francis had been in a stable relationship for almost a year now and not once, now or in their history together, could Arthur recall ever being allowed to take Francis. Well not consensually at least, but both he and Francis had done such things to each other, not that either of them was proud of them. He didn’t mind that Francis was always the one taking him, it felt incredible after all, but Arthur wanted to have an equal relationship and he wanted to make Francis feel like he made Arthur feel when he made love to him. That’s why tonight Arthur was determined to do everything right.

He wasn’t counting on everything going to wrong of course.

Things had started off wonderfully; dinner had been delicious, ordered in since Arthur didn’t want to ‘offend’ Francis delicate taste buds, a good wine which left them both a little flushed, and then up to the bedroom where Francis had seemed very responsive to Arthur’s advances. 

Kisses, touches, whispered words about his beauty; Arthur had been doing everything to get Francis as aroused and receptive as possible. His frog was practically putty in his hands. 

Feeling confident Arthur grabbed the bottle of lube and uncapped it, pouring a good portion on his hand, he didn’t want to hurt Francis after all. Making sure his fingers were well coated he slowly began to tease Francis’ entrance. He didn’t notice Francis tensing right away; when he tried to push a finger in though and Francis practically screamed and kicked Arthur in the chest even as he pulled away, sending him tumbling off the bed, well then Arthur definitely registered something was wrong.

“What the bloody hell frog!” He shouted as he got up rubbing his chest, prepared to unleash British style fury on Francis. His anger died though as soon as he laid eyes on Francis who was curled up on the bed, shaking like a leaf and looking ready to burst into tears.

“Francis love . . . what’s wrong?” Arthur asked softly as he walked around the bed toward Francis. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-non.” Francis said shakily as wiped at the tears that had started running down his cheeks. “I-I am sorry I kicked you.”

Arthur shook his head and climbed on to the bed and pulling Francis close to him. “No, that’s alright. I mean it hurts and will leave a bloody impressive bruise, but that doesn’t matter. I’m more worried about you. What happened?”

Francis sniffled and laid his head on Arthur’s chest. “I don’t let my lovers top me . . . every time I have been topped it has been after an invasion of my lands or a lost battle.” Arthur could feel his body shudder as he took in a deep breath to try and calm himself; it did little to ease the trembling however. “Rome, you, Gilbert, and especially L-Ludwig . . . After the second World War I couldn’t handle the thought. It’s not even the topping but feeling them inside me, claiming and marking me.” He gave a violent shudder and Arthur was afraid he was going to be ill. “Their seed. . . I-I can’t!” 

“Shhh,” Arthur stroked Francis’ hair and held him close. “No one is going to do that to you ever again Francis, not as long as I can stop it.”

“And if you can’t?” Francis asked in a small voice.

Arthur kissed the top of Francis’ head. “Then I’ll make sure you are in good hands. I won’t let you down Francis . . . what happened to you, what Ludwig did and the others before; I won’t let them do that again. And well . . . if-f you’re willing I’d like to help you heal and maybe one day you’ll be alright with it and um m-me topping.” He added, feeling like a git for saying it but at the same time really meaning it. More than anything he wanted to help Francis with this fear. 

Francis nodded and even managed a little smile. “I think I would like that . . . merci Arthur.”

Feeling embarrassed Arthur scoffed and looked away. “You’re welcome frog. Now get some sleep, you’re a mess and obviously exhausted.”

He could feel Francis chuckle as the other made himself more comfortable. “Merci mon amour; for everything.” Soon after it was obvious that he had fallen asleep, and Arthur took the time to shift them so they were both lying down, with Francis still in Arthur’s arms.

“I love you Francis and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.” He said as he pressed a kiss to Francis’ forehead and then went to sleep as well.


	24. A Business Quickie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France sending dirty texts to get England in the mood. It works

The first text reads: _I want you to take me right here on the meeting table_

_I want you to push your tongue deep inside me while I squirm under you, moaning your name like a mantra._

_I’ve been bad today and I need you to spank me; right over Germany’s chair until I’m begging you to stop._

_I want you to fuck me so hard and thoroughly that I see stars_

By the fourth text message Arthur is squirming in his seat, he’s so horny because of that fucking frog! He looks up and glares across the room at the nation responsible for his discomfort, only to growl as the other waves back innocently.

His phone flashes as another text message is received. _I want you to take me like you did in your pirate days, hard and raw; against the wall, over the table, on the floor_

It’s almost too much to handle because fuck! Arthur wants it too, and he’s not sure how much longer he can go on. He is seriously beginning to consider slipping under the table and dragging the frog with him for a quickie. 

Stupid bloody sexy frog. 

“I call a recess.” He said standing suddenly. “Tensions are running high and I can’t deal with the lot of you right now.” Not waiting for any response, because he knew there would either be an uproar or quiet shock, Arthur headed out knowing that Francis would follow not long after.

He headed to one of the empty meeting rooms, one both he and Francis were intimately familiar with, and waited. He wasn’t disappointed as Francis came sauntering in soon after. Arthur smirked and uttered one command.

“Strip.” 

Francis of course was happy to oblige, though not without his usual slyness. “Oh my, my did my texts get you all excited?” 

“If you’re going to be so chatty there are better things to do with your mouth.” Arthur said as he undid his own pants.

“But I can’t strip and such you of at the same time.” Francis said in a snarky tone, as he shed his pants, having already removed his shirt. 

Arthur snorted at that. “You could strip and do a lot of things, least of all give blow jobs. Now get over here.” 

Francis obeyed but mostly likely only to tick him off, not that it worked because Arthur pulled him down impatiently and then shoved Francis head between his lets. “Sucks.”

And Francis did, it felt glorious to have that hot tongue over his throbbing erection. Moaning he threaded his fingers in Francis hair and pushed his head down further, delighting in feeling Francis shudder as he choked a little. Of course he didn’t want to hurt Francis so he let him up soon after. This was all preparation he didn’t want just a blow job, he wanted to fuck that pretty little ass hard and fast until Francis was screaming his name.

“Get up and ride me.” It was so easy to slipping into this dominating role with Francis, especially when the Frenchman shuddered at the command. 

Soon enough he had a lap full of moaning Frenchman as the other pushed down on to him without any preparation. They groaned in unison at the action, Francis’ had a tinge of pain in it and Arthur tried to soothe that away with kisses and by stroking Francis’ erection.

“That’s a good boy.” He murmured between kisses as Francis slowly began to relax. Soon after Francis was ridding him energetically, as Arthur pressed up into him. 

It was hot, messy and fast. But got it was so good. 

When they came it was with twin cries of pleasure, coming together despite the frantic pace at which they had, had sex. 

“Stupid frog, you better not have stained my suit.” Arthur grumbled after, feeling happy and content.

“If I did I could always lick it off~” Francis offered with a grin as he kissed Arthur. 

Arthur only scoffed and returned the kiss, wondering if next time maybe they could play under the table before a meeting to make it a little kinkier.


	25. No Sir Not Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England and France argue about who is the wife.

They were certainly at an impasse; neither one wishes to back down from this challenge, but at the same time they knew victory could only come if one of them did. 

"I am not the wife."

"Well neither am I you bloody twit!"

The argument had been going on for hours, okay at least the last hour, but to all the spectators it seemed like hours. Arthur and Francis could not seem to make a decision on who was going to be the 'wife' in the wife carrying contest. To be more specific, neither of them wanted to be the wife.

"Will you two hurry up! The rest of us are tired of waiting for you. The race starts in five minutes." An angry voice called from the direction of the starting line. When they looked over to where the voice came from to see Tino standing at the starting line impatiently, an unsmiling Berwald slung over his back. The sight was certainly was an interesting one. "If you've not made your decision, we're starting without you, then you'll just have to live with the fact that we beat you."

Arthur's eyes blazed at that, the comment igniting something within him. As Francis began to make some fancy and very French comeback, Arthur grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder and stalked to the finish line. "Let's do this."

Tino answered the comment with a quick smile. "Finally you're getting serious." He shifted Berwald on his back and crouched down, getting ready for the signal to start the race.

For poor Francis this was a flashback to a time long past; a pirate outfit, evil yet dashing smile, and more than one night when pleasures were mixed with pain. Arthur’s gruff comment of, ‘hold on you bloody frog I don’t want to drop you,’ helped him relax somewhat. It didn’t do anything to stop the jarring ride he experienced as the race started and Arthur took off like the Hong Kong was chasing him with fireworks.


	26. An alien and a bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Kumajiro bond over a mutual hatred of England.

“It was nice for you and uh Tony to come visit America.” Canada said as he made some pancakes for the four of them. “Kumataro doesn’t really have any friends but he and Tony seem to be getting along really well.” 

America laughed at that. “I’m sure they’ll be the best of friends!” He said in way of agreement, glancing to where the two seemed to be in a deep conversation on the floor in the living room. 

“I hate that fucking limey.” Tony told Kumajirou as they conversed about their mutually hatred of England. 

Kumajirou nodded sagely, or what could have been sagely for a bear. “He treats um so badly.”

Tony looked at him head tilted. “Canada?”

“Who?”

“Canada, isn’t he your partner?” Tony asked, nodding his head to where Canada and America were in the kitchen.

“Yes him.” Kumajirou said as he went back to what he was saying. “England always treats that country-” 

“Canada.” Tony supplied.

“So badly!” The bear continued, not seeming to notice Tony interrupting him.

Tony frowned, if an alien could frown and nodded. “He treats America badly too. He’s always putting him down and making fun of him. I’d like to shove a sharp probe up hi-“

“Ignoring! He ignores that person.” Kumajirou added, Tony once again supplying Canada. “Yes him. He’s always wanted England’s attention even though he has me. It was much better when um. . .who?”

“Canada.”

“Right. It was betted when France was here.” Kumajirou told Tony with a wave of his paw. “To bad he couldn’t hold up to England.”

“What we need to do is show England that he can’t push them around anymore.” Tony said with a wicked look. “What we need to do is abduct him and then conduct horribly painful experiences on him.”

Kumajirou nodded eager to hear more. “What experiments?”

“We’ll take a-” Tony was interrupted as he was about to continue his horrible plans by Canada’s voice.

“Pancakes are ready!” 

“Food!” Kumajirou called happily as he ran toward where Canada and Amerian were.

Tony huffed in annoyance. “Bears. . .they don’t make good partners.” He said to himself as he followed after the polar bear, deciding to give these ‘pancakes’ a try.


	27. In Flanders Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembrance Day

For one minute the world stands still. 

The only sound is the lone trumpet playing its Last Stand.

A sob breaks through the silence, and as though it is the first crack in a dam, soon more join. There is wailing now as the minute passes. Families embrace in their sorrow and in memory of loved ones long past, lost in a war that was supposed to end all wars.

Why did they go? 

Some ask themselves; just what did their loved ones die for?

Did their deaths in this war to end wars really solve anything?

There are few left in the work who knew those who died personally. At the ceremony however there are four standing, watching, to the side who remember them all.

They remember them. 

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

Private William Duncan

Private Maximilien Paul Emile Marie

Lazare Ponticelli

Canadian, British, Beligian and French a like. They remember them all.

All the men and women that lie here together. Together in life and together in death.

Canada’s lips are moving. He is repeating a poem named after this place. 

‘In Flanders fields the poppies blow  
Between the crosses, row on row,'

UK is silent, his face stony. His eyes are dry but troubled. His heart aches as he looks at the lonely markers, the only tributes for the thousands who died for their freedom. And he remembers still the hundreds of thousands who are not here. He remembers millions who answered his call.

There are tears running down Belgium’s cheeks. Though she is quiet, she cannot hold her tears. She cries for the soldiers and for the memory of the 4th of August 1914. She cries for her lost innocence and her lost children.

France is the one who shows the least emotion. He aches for those who have been lost and for the choices made against those who would not fight. But he shows none of this on the outside. 

The ceremony ends and the cries of the living echoes the cries of the dead for one still moment in the ears of the four. 

They close their eyes and for another year they pray for their peace, for the peace of the world.

But they know it will not come to pass.

So they turn together, heading to the lone house on a hill not too far away. 

Soon more tears will flow, and they will laugh, and they will cry and they will reminisce about those long gone.

And in the air a whisper a reminder to never forget:

‘The torch; be yours to hold it high.  
If ye break faith with us who die  
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
In Flanders fields.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some little notes to go with it. All those who are listed are real people who died in the war except Lazare Ponticelli who was France's last surviving veteran until recently. Other important things mentioned:
> 
> In Flanders Fields: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Flanders_Fields  
> World War I Casualties: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_I_casualties  
> Rape of Belgium: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rape_of_Belgium  
> French Army Mutinies: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Army_Mutinies_(1917)


	28. A Struggle of Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France tries to help England be more trusting with bondage. Dub-con

There is absolute darkness around him, blinding him. Left in this state Arthur can only speculate about what he’s managed to get himself caught in after another late night of bingeing…He never should have trusted that overly busty barmaid; so many free drinks given to him and from such a lovely lass? It had to be a trap…when he found out who'd set it up he would wring their scrawny neck.

These were thoughts for a later time, for now he strains his ears in an attempt to hear anything of use, but very little sound reaches him. The blindfold covering his eyes is silk, dark enough to block out everything but soft and comfortable against his skin. His wrists are suspended above his head, probably tied to the head of the bed he laid on, and his legs spread wide and elevated, most likely to the end posts of the bed. The wraps around his ankles and wrists are leather, soft leather. Strong enough to hold him but soft enough to not be painful. His over all position is awkward and uncomfortable, and mildly terrifying. Whoever had done this knew his discomforts and intended to exploit them.

"Who are you, why am I here?" He asked, knowing the other already knows he is awake; his shout of shock and fear enough to alert anyone of this.

He hears nothing at first, and the silence scares him more then it should. When the soft sound of footsteps approaching reaches his ear he startles. His captor says nothing and all Arthur can hear is both of their breathing; his captors calm and soft, his own quick and somewhat panicked. When a gentle touch is placed on his cheek he shouts in surprise but is ignored. The hand begins to stroke his cheek delicately making him shake.

"Who…who are you?" He asks, trying to make his voice steady and proud when he doesn't hear it quake, "I demand to know why you've kidnapped me!"

Once again he is not answered verbally; there is only the hand which begins to move down his cheek to his neck. The touches are slow, deliberate; they send shocks through his body because the sensation seems amplified by the fact that he can't see what is going on. He had to fight back a moan as it wanders further down toward the right side of his chest and begins to circle his nipple. The very sensation is electrifying and he hates so much that it feels so good.

This is, of course, about the time he realizes he's naked and panic steals all the nerve he tried to pretend he had. "No! No! Get away from me!" He screams and thrashes about trying to knock his assailant away. If he is naked and they are touching him in this way it only means one thing. He was about to get raped by someone. While nations weren't exactly 'virgin' and he himself has experienced this type of assault some times before there was no way he was actively looking to being hurt like that, even if he did heal after.

Suddenly there are arms around him holding him in a tight and oddly familiar embrace. "Shhhh." The voice is soothing, breath hot against his ear. "I will not hurt you." He knows that voice, knows it like he knows his own and suddenly anger replaces his fear

"You bloody bastard FROG!!" Arthur howls and suddenly wishes his legs were free so he could kick Francis until the wino stopped breathing. His heart is hammering wildly in his chest from fear and adrenaline brought on by a complete panic attack. There are tears in his eyes, he knows, and hates the blond beardo for it, for being the cause of them. Bloody hell he would never drink in Paris again, he swore it!

Arthur my dear you really must calm down~" Francis says and the Brit can hear amusement in his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you; I just wanted to try something new." His hands are on Arthur's shoulders rubbing them in soothing circles but it does little to improve Arthur's temperament.

"If my hands were free I'd bloody kill you dead…" Arthur replies murderously, still shaking slightly as the adrenaline slowly bleeds from his body, "You…you drugged me and tied me up for what?! So you could get a laugh while I panic?!"

Francis' lips are suddenly on his forehead, it feels like they're burning but he knows that is just his imagination. "Non Arthur, this is very serious. Whenever we are together you must always be in control; tonight is about taking that control away."

"Without talking to me first?!" Arthur howls, struggling against Francis soft lips and velvet touches with ire, "No word on this! You just kidnap me and hope I'll go along with it?! Jesus Francis," his voice breaks before he can stop it, a crackle as the anger melts away to relief (and emotion that feels like sadness but weaker yet more painful.) His heart flutters and makes him choke further on his tears.

There is no reply from Francis for several moments, only the feeling of his arms embracing him tightly. Finally when Francis does talk it's in a soft voice tinged with sadness. "You would never have gone along with it, perhaps this was the wrong approach but there was no other choice for going forth with it."

"You scared me half to death you bloody wanker!" Arthur shouts but it holds less venom then before, finally calming down. If there was anything Arthur knows about Francis it’s that he always thinks before he acts, even if he never makes his reasons clear. Once able to breathe properly without tears or panicked breaths Arthur relaxes enough to speak again, "So what then…you're going to fuck me raw or something? Going to finally be a butch?"

Chuckling Francis pets his face and gives him a chaste peck on the lips. "I am going to dominate you in every way and you are going to be helpless to do anything but love it."

"You better bloody well be right or I'll skin you alive when we're done." Arthur growls finally allowing himself to relax completely. "I want a safe word, especially since you've already blatantly ignored one of the first rules of S&M."

"If that is what it takes to make you comfortable." Francis hums in an amused voice. "I think your safe word will be I love you."

"Go to hell…" Arthur growls, wanting again to kick the Frenchman hard in the ribs…or perhaps lower, "I want the safe word to be sky."

Francis chuckles and pats his cheek. "Alright my uptight little British Empire, but you won't be coherent enough to say much after I'm done with you." Suddenly his mouth it as Arthur's throat, teeth scrapping along his Adam’s apple as he nips and licks down Arthur's collar bone.

"Bloody…bastard…" Arthur growls, barely managing to put any real anger behind it as his senses awaken and pleasure begins to bloom where the adrenaline had been before.

By way of reply Francis nips at his collar bone before kissing down to languidly lick at one of Arthur’s nipples. While his tongue works his hands move up Arthur's sides, stroking old scars and just touching, all enough to send shivers down Arthur's spine.

"I hate you…" Arthur groans, hating his body's reactions and just how quickly it gives into this, how easily Francis can make him this frantic.

"Of course you do." Francis murmurs lavishing attention on the other nipple before moving further south. Every kiss he leaves is like a brand to Arthur; it's made even worse that he can't see where or what the infuriating Frenchman will do next.

Uselessly Arthur tugs at the binds holding his limbs captive wanting to touch Francis back, to do something, anything, rather then lay still and wait.

Slowly Francis makes his way south toward Arthur’s already hard erection. He feels the bloody frog chuckle against the skin of his leg at this but he makes no comment about it. Instead he continues past and suddenly bites into Arthur’s inner thigh.

"Fuck!" Arthur shouts, legs twitching uselessly in the leather. Again, for a moment, Arthur feels an anxiety about not having control, about another using his body.

Immediately after Francis soothes the bite with kisses, murmuring something in his stupid frog language, and strokes Arthur's legs raking his nails down them lightly. There's more bites after but they don't startle the Brit as much as the first one did. It's infuriating because even with every touch, lick, nibble, and bite, Francis still won't go near what Arthur secretly wants him to go near the most.

"Bloody frog!" Arthur shouts, thighs beginning to shake for other reasons then fear, "Touch me, suck me! I don't care but don't you bloody well continue to tease me!"

"You're not in charge here." Francis purrs and suddenly Arthur is jerking with a cry of pain as Francis hits the bottom of his right foot with something slim and hard. It's only a slap but it stings and he knows it leaves a mark. Tears gathered in Arthur's eyes as he jerks against his bonds and growls in high tones. 

"D-Don't hit me!" Arthur manages to stutter out, feeling completely defenceless and again mildly terrified for it. _I don't like this…I don't like this lack of control_

As he trembled Francis is there, kissing his eyes through the blindfold and murmuring softly that 'it's alright, you're okay.' His words are meant to be soothing but Arthur can not stop himself, this is all new and strange to him.

"Francis…" Arthur whispers and hopes it will cause some remorse in the French bastard…surely he didn't actually want to torture him?

He receives a kiss in response to this. "I don't want to hurt you Arthur, that isn't the point of this. You have to understand though you have no control here and cannot tell me what to do."

It doesn't take well to Arthur's ego to hear these words and suddenly his pride swells in a mild outrage, "You didn't even ask if I wanted to do this! You just took as you wanted and now expect me to calmly 'take it'?!"

"Non, I definitely did not expect you to take it calmly." Francis says before cheerfully adding. "That's why I brought a gag!" And without further ado he is placing what seems to be a ball into Arthur's mouth and quickly doing it up behind his head. "Since you can't speak I am going to give you a bell; ring it five times if you need me to stop."

As he was now robbed of words all Arthur could do was rage through the offending piece of plastic and leather, screaming many profanities that were unfortunately muffled. When he gets out of this he will strangle the frog until he croaks; no pun intended.

"Much better." Francis says, and Arthur can hear the smirk in his voice. "Now then back to what we were doing. I see that this unfortunate setback has had a bit of an adverse effect, we'll just have to fix that." Arthur feels the bed dip and Francis' move to straddle him; moment later there's the feeling of a hot wet mouth around his now semi-erect cock.

 _I will fucking kill him with my bare hands and then hang his body for the world to see!_ Now usually the Brit didn't think such violent thoughts about someone who was, well, sucking him off, but this was the infuriating nation of France, known as Francis to all, and he was making sure that while enjoyable Arthur wouldn't be able to get off on it. It hurt how much he wanted it, wanted more! Wanted Francis to stop teasing and just suck him for real.

As soon as he is painfully hard again he can feel Francis get off of him again. He hears nothing for several minutes aside from the French bastard doing something nearby. There is curiosity but at the same time has a sense of trepidation about what the bastard has planned next. Both feelings are rewarded, or punished; soon enough as he feels something slim roll over his cock. Immediately he knows what it is.

A shriek rips from his throat as he bucks wildly against this new, and far crueller, restraint. He swears up and down but it comes out as nothing but loud sounds of indignation. Now his face is as red as his penis with blood and his thighs tremble as his legs thrash as best they can.

Francis only strokes his thighs, saying nothing. He knows the git is waiting for him to calm down but goddamn if he's going to let that bastard frog just get away with this! Half tempted to ring the bell he wiggles his left leg wildly, trying to shake the fucker off, to no avail.

"You're going to have to behave if you want me to go one." Francis tells him as he plays with the head of Arthur's penis. "You should see what a lovely shade of red this has become, just like a lollipop. I almost want to lick at it some more."

 _I hate you so much right now!_ Arthur viciously thinks, shuddering in want and fury at the same time. Right now he longs to fuck that stupid mouth till the voice inside it is silenced with his cum, a thought that makes him even angrier at their current positions. The bastard frog gives him no quarter and so he stews in his anger until his raw desire is so painful he'd let Francis fuck his eyebrows if he was just allowed to get off. There's nothing he wants to deny more but…he needs the frog to let him cum…he wants it more then he can think. Moans and withers escape him and he has no doubt the fucker picks right up on his weakness.

Francis' chuckle makes his face burn in shame. "Are we ready to play nice Arthur?" He asks as the sound of something opening reaches Arthur's ears. "I could make this very nice for you~"

There's no strength left in him…he wants to say fuck you but what comes out is a pitiable moan, his legs shuddering and useless humping of the air. That's it, he's done and he knows it…Francis knows it, the whole goddamned world does.

"Oh Arthur, you really are too much sometimes my love." Francis says and kisses his cheek. "And too cute." He adds kissing the other's cheek and forehead. "Now that you've calmed why don't we continue?" It's a rhetorical question of course but Arthur gives a tiny nod anyway. "Good boy." He receives a kiss to his nose and soon after the sensation of finger covered in something cool and slimly is at his entrance, rubbing around it but not entering.

In his weakness he presses it in, wanting it, wanting the bloody frog to get this part over with so he'll finally……fuck him, ugh just the thought of such weakness. But he wants it…he needs it so he tries to fuck himself on those long, too elegant for a man’s, fingers.

And he hates it when Francis obliges him, moving the finger in and out slowly, teasingly. It's infuriating but it feels so good at the same time. "Your body is sucking me in like a whore, it wants me to fuck it just like you want me to fuck you."

There are tears again though this time in frustration. It hurts to be this hard…it hurts his pride to want Francis to fuck him and it makes his entire body ache to think that he'll be denied a moment longer. Through the gag he tries to choke down a sob.

"My poor sweet Arthur." Francis says in a loving tone, adding another finger and stretching him. "You want this so bad don't you? But it's hard knowing only I can decide when you get relief."

A shudder wracks his body that's hard enough to make the bell ring and now, again, the tears are in his eyes. They make the blindfold wet, which causes it to itch his eyes and irritate him. There's nothing he can do about it though aside from not crying and that seems very difficult with his body nearly going into convulsions.

Francis hums a soothing melody as he adds a third finger, stretching Arthur in order to, hopefully, soon start fucking him. His fingers are more than long enough to reach Arthur’s prostate but he always just brushes it, enough to cause Arthur to shudder at the slight shocks of pleasure.

 _Now you idiot! I can't do this anymore!_ God above did Arthur wish he didn't have this gag in; now for more then one reason as he seems to be mildly drowning in his own spit. The entirety of his body aches. If Francis doesn't hurry up Arthur swears he will not look, speak or think of the bastard for the next five years!!

With a smirk, Arthur is almost sure the frog is enjoying his impatience, Francis removes his fingers slowly and the bed dips as he climbs on. For a moment he simply sits at Arthur's entrance, the head of his cock just rubbing lightly at the opening. It is without warning he pushes in right to the hilt, the fact that Arthur had been stretched so well the only thing saving him from tearing.

It doesn't hurt but he chokes on his spit and realizes, through all the other parts of his panicking body that he is actually drowning. When he'd gasped the water in his mouth went into his windpipe and was now blocking his lungs. Now he couldn't cough, only pull frantically, but uselessly, at his binds. More panic took him as he dropped the bell uselessly to the bed, where it rolled off the bed with a series of rings. The way to warn Francis was now gone and he was drowning with the frogs cock up his ass…wonderful. When he came to after death he was going to kill him and make sure it took the wino bastard a hundred years to 'wake up' again.

But then again this is Francis and Francis knows him better than even he himself does (sometimes). Before he notices the gag is off and his arms are unhooked from the bed, letting him clutch at his chest. The bloody frog is cradling him, helping him turn so that he can spit and choke and take in wonderful lungfuls of air. They say nothing but Arthur can feel Francis trembling faintly as his hands rub Arthur's back.

They remain like this until Arthur's breathing returns to normal and he calms slightly. An awkward pause sits and Arthur isn't sure what to say; he doesn't feel angry at Francis but the bone deep fear of the experience has left him feeling wary. He doesn't pull away though; he needs Francis holding him like this to remind him that he's okay, and he thinks that Francis' probably needs it to for the same reason.

"Francis…" Arthur says after a long pause, voice hoarse and weak sounding. It annoys him to no end that he can't stop himself from shaking, just as he can't stop his pathetic fear from rending him useless.

"I'm sorry." Francis says hurriedly, burying his face in Arthur’s hair, “I never meant for it to get dangerous.”

"I told you, you were breaking the rules…" Arthur replied weakly, slowly regaining control over himself again, enough to try to even out his voice and stop his shaking.

Francis nods. "I wanted you to experience what it feels like to have someone in complete control . . . to have complete trust in them." He laughs bitterly. "I suppose I failed most horrendously." 

"You need a ball gag with holes so I can breath and spit won't drown me…" Arthur responds, laying his head on Francis' shoulders as he continued to give advice, "the have the chains so I can be easily flipped over, the gag would also work better if I can bite into it a bit…"

"Forgive me for not being the expert on tying others up." Francis says as he chuckles in amusement; Arthur pinches his side for that not caring for being mocked.

"Idiot…" Arthur sighs. Slowly his body's various pains start to reawaken and he groans when his cock brushes against Francis. "Also this…cock ring is only as good as you can use it…you seriously hurt a male using these! Undo it and hurry up, fuck me or whatever, I need to finish."

A nod and couple of wrist twists and the cock ring is gone. A wicked little smile creeps onto Francis' face as he spends a moment staring at Arthur's angry erection. Those royal blue eyes look up at Arthur, guilt flashing in them, before he grabs the lube that was still lying on the bed. Slowly he strokes Arthur and seconds later he's crawled on top of him and is sinking himself down onto him.

"Ah wait!" Arthur gasps, the tight hole almost too much to bear, "Weren’t you going to show me 'loss of control' or some bloody thing?"

“A-ah! A-another time.” Francis says his brow furrowed in slight pain as he starts to move up and down. Arthur wants to hit him for being an idiot but oh god it feels so painfully good to be buried inside him.

"Bloody bastard…" Arthur groans laying back, legs and hands still tied and therefore useless, letting Francis ride him. It was painful, after being denied for so long and being so hard… honestly who could fault him for how quickly (and without any real warning) he came.

Francis says nothing, simply gets off him after he's come and proceeds to unchain him completely. Afterward he crawls onto the bed and curls up at Arthur's side. He's unusually quiet, and Arthur knows it’s because he feels bad the silly frog.

"Bloody bastard…" Arthur groans laying back, legs still tied and therefore useless. He reached with his chained together hands and rests them on Francis' thighs, stroking it as Francis rides him. It was painful, after being denied for so long and being so hard… honestly who could fault him for how quickly, and without any real warning, he came.

There is nothing said, Francis simply gets off him after he's come and proceeds to unchain him completely. Afterward he crawls onto the bed and curls up at Arthur's side. The silence that follows is awkward and Arthur knows it’s because the frog feels bad.

"I'm not angry," Arthur sighs, petting Francis' back with the back of his hand, "and I don't hate you…any more then usual."

"You have the right to be." Francis says motionlessly in reply. "I was stupid."

"Yes but moping isn't how you usually deal with that, is it?" Arthur said with a smirk, "I think an apology usually involves your best wine and lots of French pastries."

Francis huffs a little at that. "You always complain about my wine and pastries saying they're too French."

Without being able to hold back Arthur chuckles, "Yes but that hasn't stopped you before." Honestly…the frog could get hurt in the oddest manners. Being beaten and mocked for his military rolls off of him, like water off a duck, but as soon as you insult his food…

"Stupid sourcils." Francis mutters as he pouts and looks away. It's really endearing in a stupid French sort of way and Arthur can't help but pull him against his chest. More sulking occurs while Francis relaxes against him still seeming to be insulted.

"Research…" Arthur says, mildly breaking the mood, "research how to be a dom in BDSM," Slowly his face is flushing darkly, "then…we'll try again."

Francis looks up at him in surprise and then slowly smiles. "I will." He says before laying his head in Arthur's chest again. "For you I will do all the research I can."

"Good…if I twist something or get hurt I'll kick your bloody ass." Arthur grumps, turning his face away and hiding in the covers.

“D’accord.” Francis says in frog. “Now perhaps I think it is time to sleep.”

"Yeah." Arthur agrees and lays down, falling asleep pretty easily; though tomorrow he is going to ache like a bitch.


	29. To which Arthur is a sadistic bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England masturbating to the thought of America and Canada fighting against each other in the War of 1812.

Arthur closed his eyes and made himself comfortable. Leasurly he ran a hand up his shirt to stroke the muscles of his stomach. The touches were soft, teasing. He wasn't particularly focused on the feeling at the moment, instead drifting into memories. Effortlessly images came to his mind…memories of his children, his rebellious son and the child he stole from that pathetic frog. He shivered in delight at the brief flash of the image of Francis' face bloody and weeping as he stole Matthew out of his arms.

Smiling he decided to focus on his current fantasies…his past memories when Alfred came to ask for Matthew's aid in his fight of resistance.

Alfred written Matthew many letters…ones that he was sure the Canadian didn't think he knew about…but of course he'd had his spies in the younger twin's house that reported everything to him. When he'd found out Alfred and Matthew had arranged a secret meeting, one which the younger twin had agreed to, he'd immediately set out to bring about the end of any rebellion that might be inside the Canadian.

Luckily he arrived just in time to see the two meet and begin to discuss. Deciding this might be a good time to get some information on Alfred's plan he stayed quiet and listened.

He'd heard Al talk first, pleading with his brother, "Matt, I'm going to get Francis and Antonio's help for this! I'm garuanteed to win, especially if I have you by my said. Please…" he remembered the shivers that racked his spine in delight at the pitiful tone, "Tell you'll stand beside me."

Of course he'd try to win Matthew over, it was just logical…having the Canadian on his side would mean that Arthur would loose a major foothold on the North American continent. He waited for the northern twin's response and was rewarded wonderfully for his patients. "You know I can't Alfred…as long as my people do not wish it then neither do I…"

Arthur hardened further in his hands remembering the way his little French-English sounded so wounded by what he knew he had to say and the pain that filled Alfred's voice because of it.

"But I need you!" Of course Alfred had not taken this and had walked over to his brother, pleading.

"I can't Alfred!" Matthew had cried, turning his head away from Alfred giving Arthur a perfect view of the tears that the younger twin wouldn't shed.  
He stroked a little harder…Matthew's tear filled eyes were always…such a turn on no matter how many times he saw them.

Alfred's voice had turned cold when next he spoke. "Is it because of Arthur?" He'd asked, his eyes reflecting the anger he obviously felt. The normal sky blue hardened and darkened as though a storm had blown in. It still made Arthur moan in delight to remember that colour, "If you join me we'll get you free too."

"I can not Alfred…please do not ask this of me." Matthew had replied, still refusing to shed those tears.

"If you don't join me, then you're against me." Alfred had said, as he stared at his brother. "He'll use you to fight me. Is that what you want?"

"I don't want to fight you or him, is that to hard to understand?!" Matthew had shouted, unfortunately turning his face away from Arthur so he couldn't see the tears he'd known the Canadian had begun to shed.

Arthur remembers the sigh that escaped Alfred's lips and the continued argument he'd posed against him to sway Matthew, "You won't have a choice Matt. You belong to him and unless you fight with me to break free of him, you're going to be fighting against me. And dammit I don't want to have to fight my own brother!"

But the Canadian had not been swayed…or perhaps it was better to say his people would not be. Instead the child had shaken his head and with another sad sigh told him, "I won't…I'm sorry Alfred but I can't…"

"Fine… I will see you on the battlefield then…and I won't go easy on you." Alfred had replied, eyes shadowed as he clenched his fists. "If you're going to be his, then I'll treat you like the stranger you've become." With that he had turned and walked away, ignoring Matthew as his brother had begun to cry in earnest.

Letting out a loud moan, Arthur barely held himself from coming right there at the memory. No, he wanted this to last…to remember more…letting himself relax he slowly worked through his memories to a more recent fight the two brothers had been in…yes…the one after the ungrateful brat Alfred had attacked Matthew in hopes of stealing the Canadian from him.

He remembered rushing there as soon as he'd heard that Matthew was in danger, taking an advanced ship there before the rest of his troops showed up. He'd made it to the capital just in time to see it being burnt to the ground, people fighting, others fleeing all a huge mess.

Not letting himself get lost in the crowd of panicked people he rushed to where he felt Matthew was. At first he had thought there was only one person there, the shadows from the flames had made it seem as though that person was huddling. But when he had gotten closer he realized how wrong he was.

They had both been covered in soot and blood; Matthew on his back and Alfred over him… in him.

Matthew had been crying but Alfred didn't stop (and at the time Arthur had been too shocked to do anything.) Now though, as he remember the scene he moaned and slipped a finger down to his entrance, slipping it inside and beginning to teast himself.

Everything about the scene brought pleasure to him; Alfred's cruelty, Matthew's tears, even the memory of the fire and the screams in the background. Slipping a finger in further he searched for his sweet spot as he continued to live in the memory.

Matthew was…at the time, begging Alfred to stop…and for him to come rescue his other son but the shock of what he was witnessing held his limbs prison. So he'd watched as Alfred fucked the Canadian all the way to completion, coming inside the weeping boy with a grunt. The poor child had tried to crawl away from Alfred but was held by the American ,who lifted Matthew up to carry him away.

That was when a rage had over taken Arthur's shock and leant him all the strength that had previously been stolen.

Arthur pulled his fingers out and went back to concentrating on his prick as he remembered beating the shit out of the young once-colony. He'd honestly almost killed Alfred that day…still remembered the older twins attempts to fight back, cries of pain…blood, everything. Again Arthur almost came but managed to hold himself back.

His mind turned to what he and Matthew had planned in retribution. Fuck…when that child was pissed he came up some sadistic things…burning Alfred's entire capital to the ground…like the American had done to him…save he intended to burn everything and probably kill Alfred too…maybe tie the little fucker to a stake and burn him too…oh that brought up memories of Joan and sent a spike of pleasure so great through him that he came. Damn…he'd wanted to dwell on the sadistic pain Matthew intended for Alfred a little while longer. Ah well…when they went through with it maybe he'd teach the younger twin how to really fuck a nation over.

**Author's Note:**

> “Mathieu, tu le fais mal.” - Matthew you're doing it wrong.
> 
> “Non, non! Ce n’est pas bon!” - No, no. That's not good/right.
> 
> “Il faut que tu massage avec ton main aussi.” - You have to massage it with your hand too.
> 
> “C'est vraiment dommage que tu ne peux pas le faire propre. Ca doit être difficile pour Alfred.” - It's really sad that you can't do it properly. It must be hard on Alfred.
> 
> “Regarde-moi gros trou du cul! Je n’ai pas besoin de ton aide! Je le fait bien! Plus que bien. Je prend au moins soins de mon amant!” - Look at me asshole. I don't need your help. I'm doing it fine. Better than fine. At least I'm taking care of my (male) lover
> 
> “Tu as raison.” - you're right


End file.
